


How to Get a Friend Without Wanting One

by Diary



Category: As the World Turns
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Bechdel Test Fail, Canon Gay Character, Developing Friendships, Gen, Late Night Conversations, Male Friendship, POV Male Character, POV Queer Character, POV Reid Oliver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 21:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6094812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diary/pseuds/Diary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Reposted under a different title. “Oh, this is hilarious; the one everyone’s voted ‘mostly like to drive a patient to suicide’ doesn’t like my bedside manner.” Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Get a Friend Without Wanting One

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own As the World Turns.

“Hey, Oliver, get a drink with me.”

Reid looks up from his case file, blinks as he studies Christopher Hughes ( _call me Chris_ ), and goes back to his work.

“What, I don’t even warrant a ‘go screw yourself’?”

“Such PG language,” Reid mutters. “You’re an idiot, you have daddy issues, and let me guess, you’re hoping to humiliate me. Classic, seduce the outcast, and then, destroy their self-esteem.”

“Okay,” Chris says. He sits down, reaches over, and puts his hand over Reid’s paper.

Frowning, Reid pokes at it with his pencil.

“Yeah, that’s not going to work,” Chris says. “So, you like reruns and cheesy afterschool films, I’m guessing. This isn’t TV, Oliver. In addition, seduction usually involves romantic interest, which- not going to happen. Look, I don’t any burning desire to be your friend, but I’d like it if we could get to a point where we don’t end up almost coming to blows during rounds. I’ll buy you a drink or a burger, and we can find some common ground, or at least, work out a way to keep our differences from disrupting the class.”

“I don’t like reruns and cheesy, afterschool specials. Unfortunately, I’ve suffered from overexposure. Moreover, unless you stop being an idiot, we’re not going to work anything out. Now, remove your hand.”

“I have the same qualifications as the others.”

“Not me,” Reid replies. “You don’t have to be romantically interested to seduce someone. Seduction, technically-”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Chris mutters. “It was a joke, Oliver. A foreign concept, I’m sure. I know what you meant. And okay, you’re some sort of prodigy. Good for you. Everyone else, I’m on par with. You single me out.”

“You’re not psychologically qualified.”

Laughing, Chris brings his hand up to his forehead. “Oh, this is hilarious; the one everyone’s voted ‘mostly like to drive a patient to suicide’ doesn’t like my bedside manner.”

“Your bedside manner is fine. You’re only here because daddy’s a doctor, too. You’re a classic womaniser. You’re a lawsuit waiting to happen, a malpractice lawyer’s wet dream come to life.”

Sighing, Chris takes a deep breath. “Fine, but you know what? I’m not leaving. The other interns, the ones you haven’t deemed unworthy, they’re suffering because of our inability to get through rounds together. One drink.”

“Tell me, how would that help?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

Reid simply looks at him.

Leaning back, Chris returns his stare.

“Fine,” Reid says. He feels discomfort twinging throughout his body. “I’m physically incapable of turning down free food.”

-

They go to a mom and pop café.

“You take psychology,” Chris asks. Taking a long gulp of his beer, he taps against the bottle when he sets it down.

“It’s one of the most biased sciences there is,” Reid answers. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it a pseudoscience, that’s reserved for things such as phrenology, but I wouldn’t waste my time on it.”

“But you have me psychoanalysed.”

“You’re not a complex mystery, Doogie Hughes. You’re here because your dad’s a doctor and you had bad luck with a girl back home. Eventually, you’ll get disenchanted with medicine, and this spot your dad’s favour got you will have been completely wasted.”

Chris takes a sharp breath. “Alright, at one point, my parents paid my tuition for med school, but there were no favours called in. My grades and hard work is what got me this spot. Hate it to say, Oliver, but that would be you. We both know someone made a deal or cashed in a favour for your spot.”

“How would you know, Doogie?”

“First, I have nothing in common with that character. Second, I called Harvard. I didn’t think it would be so easy, but apparently, there isn’t one person there who doesn’t hate you, including the nice receptionist I talked to. Scholarship kid, loudmouth, boy genius, nothing I didn’t know.”

“What did you find out that you didn’t?”

“You tested positive for HIV. My guess is that it was a false positive, but that didn’t stop hospitals and other programs from repeatedly rejecting you. Finally, you ended up here.”

Shaking his head, Reid reaches over, grabs the beer, and takes a sip. “Stay out of my personal life, Doogie.”

“Seriously, that name’s going to stick?” When Reid doesn’t answer, he sighs, shrugs, and reaches over to reclaim the beer. Taking another drink, he continues, “Oh, and what personal life? The one where you insult people for fun, or the one where a twelve-year-old kid from the paediatrics ward is the closest thing to a friend you have? You work, eat, sleep, and possibly find some time to sit in front of the TV.”

“I do yoga and jog,” he answers. “In this instance, my medical diagnosis is no one else’s business, and let’s clear one thing up right now: I’ve more than earned my spot. I don’t know how you thought this would go down, but here’s how it will: I’m not leaving, I’m not going to ease up, and you don’t scare me.”

“One of my ex-girlfriends used to be a yoga instructor,” Chris says. “She’s not the girl I had bad luck with. If you use my personal life as justification for constantly attacking me, I don’t see why yours is sacred.”

“My personal life doesn’t interfere with my job.”

“‘Most likely to drive a patient to suicide,’” Chris reminds him. “And right now, mine isn’t, either.”

“It will.”

Chris leans back. “You’re off your game tonight, Oliver. Why is that?”

Sighing, Reid withdraws some money, sets it down, and walks out.

-

He stares at Chris.

“This is getting worrying,” he declares. “What are you doing at my place?”

Chris holds up a six-pack of beers. “Trying to settle things.”

“Boundaries, Doogie. You appear to lack them.”

“I’ve already ordered a pizza and gave the address.”

“Fine." He stands aside.

Once they’ve sat down, Chris says, “Look, I’m sure you’ve already guessed that I have a screwed up past. I’m not going to go into that. I have a younger cousin in a psychiatric hospital. I’ve been visiting him for a few years, now. One day, his roommate suffered a pulmonary embolism, and my cousin ran to get help, leaving me alone in the room with him. I knew what to do, how to help, and I did. I saved a life. I helped a kid. You know, most kids love me.”

“And what happens when you burn out? Or when something else gives you a life-changing epiphany about your place in life?”

“I won’t.”

“Such a passionate defence.”

“What’s your story?”

“My uncle hates medicine, and I’m good at it. The brain is the most interesting study there is.”

The doorbell rings, and Chris says, “I’ll get it.”

“Oh, wow, there’s another person here,” a familiar voice says, and Reid sighs. “Do you talk?”

Going over, Reid glares when Chris answers, “Uh, yeah, I think so?”

“Hey, doc,” the deliverer says with a small wave. “Is he the one who places your orders? Did you let him out of the basement?”

Before Reid can point out he doesn’t have a basement, Chris says, “Wish we could trade places, man. At the hospital, he never shuts up.”

The deliverer grins, and Reid quickly retreats to the couch with the pizza.

Once Chris is back at the couch, he laughs. “Blonds are your type, huh? I don’t know if he’s interested in you, but he definitely likes you. Don’t tell me the infamous Reid Oliver gets all bashful schoolboy.”

“He’s a fascinating medical study. Motor mouth, only breathes when absolutely necessary.”

Chris laughs again. “When you’re not lecturing or insulting, you have problems with conversation.”

“Obvious.”

Leaning back, Chris gives him a disturbing look. “C’mon, Oliver, stop with the monotone, monosyllable routine.”

“Technically-”

“And stop being so literal. You do it on purpose.”

Reid concentrates on his pizza.

…

Reid wouldn’t admit aloud he eases up on Chris in class, but he eases up on Chris.

This turns out to be a mistake.

“Come on, Oliver, let’s go get something to eat. I’m starving.”

“We’re not friends. I don’t like you, Doogie.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t say you’re on my best man list, but-”

“That doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Sure it does. It’s probably for the best my ex-girlfriend and I never made it to the altar. I won’t be getting married anytime soon, but when I do, I’m going to make sure everyone in attendance believes in my marriage and wants it to work.”

“You want others to have the faith you yourself don’t have?”

“There’s an abnormally high divorce rate in my hometown,” Chris answers. “I’d just like to be one of the rare ones who escapes it.”

“I have to study.”

“You mean you have to go over Professor Duncan’s notes that you stole and write corrections.”

“I didn’t steal them. He made them available to the class.”

“Tossing them in the trashcan is not-”

“No one asked for your input, Doogie.”

He’s aware there’s an element of the pathetic to what he’s doing, but it’s not his fault Professor Duncan is obviously sleeping with several of his students. It’s easier to get him fired for being a complete moron than it is to get someone to do something about such blatant ethical violations.

“I’ll help you go over the notes.”

“You wouldn’t know what-”

“Cut the crap, Oliver. I’m in the three-percentile range. I know, that’s not as good as your spot in the top one percent, but it’s nothing to sneer at.”

“You’re buying,” he mutters.

Chris grins. “Works for me.”

…

“I had a horrible date tonight,” Chris informs him.

Before he can ask why and how this translates into Chris showing up at his apartment at three a.m., Chris has slipped past him and made himself at home on the couch. “Do you have any beer? Before you go off at me for stereotyping or whatever, let me assure you, this comes from my vast exposure to your personality. Have you ever had a date that you really liked, and you thought he liked you just as much, but then, it turns out, all he was after was sex? I don’t know if that would upset you, but it sure as hell does me. One-night stands are great, but when you explicitly ask someone out on a date, everything goes great, you go to bed, and then, no number, ‘thanks for the night, but I’m not looking for anything serious’…”

He trails off with a sigh.

“You can have some tea,” Reid finds himself saying.

When he delivers it, Chris mutters, “Thanks, Oliver.”

“Couldn’t you call Mommy and Daddy or someone from your extended family? Don’t you have frat boys whose dorms you could invade?”

“My family, no,” Chris answers with a grimace. “And no, no frat boys. They’d just get me in trouble.”

“You can’t just invade my place at three a.m.,” he says, and it comes out more helplessly than he’d like.

“Why not? You don’t have anyone else here, do you?”

“That’s not the point. What would you do if I did this to you?”

“Because of something involving medicine or because of a bad date? If it were the former, I’d hand you a beer and try to keep you still while you talked. If it were a because of a bad date, I’d have you admitted to make sure you weren’t drugged, concussed, possessed, and/or having a psychotic break.”

Reid has to acknowledge he walked right into the last one.

“Doogie, you’ve come to the wrong place for sympathy. I wouldn’t care. If someone didn’t like me as much as I thought they did, I’d move on. Life’s too short to waste feelings on people who don’t return them.”

Chris grunts. “Serious question, Oliver: Putting aside all the chemicals, neurons, etc., do you think there’s more to humans than the physical?”

“Are you asking if I believe in souls?”

“I guess,” Chris answers. “Do we have any sort of control, or is everything controlled by stimulus?”

Reaching over, Reid takes Chris’s pulse.

“I’m not drunk or high. I’m just- down.”

Reid considers what to say.

Finally, he says, “I don’t place much stock in psychology, and while a person’s actions can be influenced by the signals their body sends and how it reacts and process things, I don’t think they always are. Of course, I could be wrong. There could be an answer for everything, and we have absolutely no free will. Nevertheless, there are people who, the most reasonable thing for them to do given what they’ve gone through, would be to become completely self-centred and only look out for themselves. Instead they better themselves and give other people all the breaks and kindness they never got.”

He finds Chris looking at him with uncomfortable interest.

Shifting, he continues, “I’m agnostic. I question whether the soul exists, and if any deities do exist, I tend to think something like the Deism model is close to what they’d be. All that said, my folks died when I was young, and I have very few memories of them. My uncle was a quasi-abusive son of a bitch, my town sucked, and maybe, in some ways, I’m just as bad as he is, but I’m going to make something of myself and do it on my terms. The thought that something controls everything and me breaking free was because of all he did rather than in spite of it- it’s not a comforting thought.”

“Now,” he finishes, “does this have anything to do with you making terrible choices when it comes to women?”

Chris chuckles. “Yeah.” He takes a breath. “Thanks. Uh, I’ll be going now.”

Reaching over, Reid stops him. “You can take the couch.”

…

“Why don’t you ever date, Oliver,” Chris inquires with his mouthful.

Glaring, Reid kicks Chris’s feet off the table and wonders when the last time he had dinner alone even was. “I don’t know. I’m thinking it might have something to do with the fact you’ve more-or-less moved in despite our lack of quality time in the bedroom or your contribution to the rent.”

“I buy the food most of the time,” Chris replies. “And I’m thinking you wouldn’t be bringing up our lack of quality time in the bedroom if you were having that with someone else.”

“My work and I are very happy together,” he states. “In fact, we were happier before you came around.”

“No, you weren’t.”

Groaning, he tries to smoother himself with a pillow.

“Hey, seriously,” Chris says. “Why don’t you date? I get it, the great Oliver can’t be bothered with sentimentality or even just enjoying a person over twelve’s company without torturing them, but there has to be some blond boy out there who can take whatever you throw and throw it back.”

“First, I resent the implication I don’t torture those twelve and under just as much as I do others. If anything, I torture them more. Second, your hair colour could be described as blondish, and as much as I hate to admit it, you’re pretty good at tossing back everything I throw.”

“Don’t you ever want anything more than what you have?”

“Of course,” he answers. “I want to be the top neurosurgeon in the world. I want to get Duncan fired. I want to find a supreme pizza like the ones they made at home. As long as I get the first, though, and I will, that’s all I need.”

“Yeah, just you wait until some absurdly young prodigy comes along and takes your spot.”

“I’ll just get better.”

Chris rolls his eyes. “Or you’ll kill them.”

“Don’t be so crude. I’d much sooner lobotomise them.”

“Right, well, I can probably give you some kidnapping tips, but I’ll also be the one to call the FBI on you.”

“Maybe you’ll have better luck with Agent Scully.”

“Nah, Mulder’s more my type,” Chris comments.

Because Reid is a grown man, he does not choke on his soda.

Reaching over, Chris pats his back. “Obviously, when it comes to gender, she’s more my type, but personality-wise, he is.”

“You’re an odd one, Doogie Hughes.”

“And what does that make you?”

“The poor soul who has to try to fruitlessly deny our friendship when people see us in public,” he answers before he can think.

“Friendship, huh?”

Sighing, he wonders if lobotomising Chris is an option.

“Shut up.” He presses the pillow against Chris’s smirking face. “Just because we’re inexplicably friends doesn’t mean that I don’t still consider you an entitled, daddy’s boy womaniser.”

“And you’re still a jackass,” Chris responds with a grin. “Well, nobody perfect, right?”


End file.
